


American Influence

by wildmachinery



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-11
Updated: 2003-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildmachinery/pseuds/wildmachinery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And knowing you, you've got about 85 sick days coming to you," <i>82, actually,</i> I thought, but kept to myself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Influence

I could still hear them in the hall outside. Ray obviously believed me to still be asleep, or he would have been arguing with the doctor more quietly. I debated with myself between keeping my eyes open or leaving them closed. There was no obvious difference between the two options at that point, so I decided to keep them closed and pretend that the darkness surrounding me was being voluntarily sustained.

"Hullo, son. How are you?"

I opened my eyes. "Hello, Dad." I still couldn't see him, but etiquette would seem to require that I at least acknowledge his presence. "I'm still blind, it would seem."

"Ah, that's too bad, son. Look on the bright side, though - it cleared right up the last time. I'm sure you'll be right as rain by tomorrow afternoon."

I refrained from reminding him that I had also gone temporarily raving mad the last time something like this had happened, and he himself had been encouraging me to do away with my partner, so perhaps "the last time" was not the best positive example he could have offered. Instead, I quietly hoped that this incident would be at least marginally less rough on both my sanity and the health and safety of one Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Detective. "I'm sure you're right."

"You talking to yourself again, Fraser?" My head jerked involuntarily over to the source of Ray's voice. "You want me to go get the doctor?"

"No, it's all right, Ray." I heard him collapse into the chair by my bed. "What did he have to say?"

"He said that you're concussed, which I could've told you, and that you can't see because of that whack on the head you got, and it'll probably go away on its own in a few days. I swear-"

"You see, Benton? I told you. Right as rain by tomorrow."

"-more careful chasing down purse-snatchers, or I just won't let you out by yourself anymore. Stupid kid could've brained you with that damn brick."

My father sniffed and said something disparaging about the youth of today. I tried to ignore him. "He had committed a crime, Ray, and I pursued him in the safest manner I thought possible."

"Yeah, well, you should have waited for me, Fraser. Things like this are the reason cops invented backup."

"He's right, son. You can't keep going off half-cocked after every miscreant you see. You've got to have a more organized approach in an environment like this."

Ray must have noticed the look of consternation on my face, because his voice immediately softened. "The doc said you could go home today, as long as someone's there to keep an eye on you. And knowing you, you've got about 85 sick days coming to you," _82, actually_ , I thought, but kept to myself, "so what you're going to do is take off a few days and stay at my place until you can see things not to trip over them."

"Are you sure, Ray? I don't want to put you out in any way-"

"C'mon, it's not like you don't spend half your free time there anyway." I could hear his grin in his voice, coloring his pronunciations, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"I suppose that's true. I just wouldn't want to be at all underfoot."

Ray snorted eloquently. "Don't think it's possible for you to be underfoot, Fraser." There was a faint rustle of cloth and leather, and Ray's warm hands were gently cupping my face. "'Sides, I want to take care of you for once." His thumbs stroked over my cheekbones. "You going to let me?"

I reached out vaguely in the direction of his face. His hand caught mine, pressed it to his cheek. Soft, warm. "I believe I will, Ray." Beautiful.

"Greatness." His smile widened under my fingers. "You feel up to leaving now?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "I'll go get your stuff. Be back in a few minutes." My thumb skated over his lips; he kissed it briefly, then stood and left the room. I sank back into the pillows, feeling the weight of my father's shocked disapproval, but was unable to stop smiling.

"Son," my father said heavily, _and here it comes_ , "we're going to have to have a talk about that Yank."


End file.
